Troubles and Treats
Page 19

I can feel the tears stinging my eyes and my lip start to quiver, and I know I’m going to break down any second.
“Shit. Don’t cry. Not here. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
Liz grabs my arm and pulls me up from my chair and drags me out into the school hallway.
We walk down past a few other classrooms and she stops and turns to face me. “Talk.”
I take a deep breath and let it all out in one enormous explosion of truth. Everything I’ve been feeling and have worried about and stressed over for the last few months. It all comes pouring out of me.
“I’m so tired, Liz. I’m physically tired and brainy tired and Drew is just no help at all, and I don’t understand how he can NOT see that I need help or ever even ask me if he can get up with Billy in the middle of the night or change a diaper or fix Veronica lunch or get her ready for school or help me with the other f**king million and one things I’ve got going on,” I complain, as I start pacing in front of Liz. I grab onto a lock of my hair and start twirling it around my finger, something I do when I’m nervous or freaked out. And I’m freaked out right now! I’m also not paying attention to just how fast I’m twirling and before I know it, my finger is stuck in a knot of hair right next to my head.
“My finger’s stuck. MY FINGER’S STUCK!” I yell in a panic.
Liz rushes up to me and puts her hand over my mouth so I stop yelling and tries yanking on my arm with her other hand.
“Mmmmmmmmmffffff!” I mumble-scream into her hand.
Liz huffs and shakes her head at me. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. Don’t you dare scream.”
I nod my head at her so she knows I’ll be good, and she slowly removes her hand from my mouth. Once she’s satisfied I’m not going to freak out every classroom in the hallway, she gets to work trying to free my finger from my hair, and I go right back into my complaining.
“All he wants me for is sex and then when I do try and give it to him, he wants to do it the same way we always have, and I think there’s something wrong with me because I just don’t want to do it the same way we always have, and I don’t know if I want to be a dirty whore anymore even though he still wants a whore, and I just didn’t feel right calling him a slut on Saturday but maybe I will next time, but now I don’t even know if there ever WILL be a next time, and Jackson is just so nice and pretty and helpful and he knew immediately that I just wanted sleep and some help, and I don’t know what to do! What the f**k should I do if I don’t want to be a dirty whore anymore, Liz?!”
The sound of someone coughing stops my rant and Liz and I both turn to see one of the teachers from the kindergarten class standing behind us with a line of kids, everyone staring at us with eyes wide and mouths open. Twenty five-year-olds are looking at me like I’m crazy and who knows, I probably am. I think I’m cranking up. I’m going to have to leave my kids and go live in a nut house with my finger still stuck in my hair and I don’t even LIKE nuts.
“Mrs. Dellena, what’s a dirty whore?” one of the kids asks his teacher.
“Sorry, please excuse us,” Liz says with a kind smile to the teacher as she grabs my arm and drags me down the hall where there are no classrooms or children to horrify, forcing my finger to magically get unstuck from my hair.
“Yay, you did it!” I tell her, holding my finger up in front of her face.
She bats my finger out of the way and looks at me in shock. “What the f**k just came out of your mouth?”
“I thought I’d never be able to use this finger again,” I tell her in awe.
“Shut the hell up about your finger! What the hell is really going on with you and Drew?” she demands.
“I know. It’s a lot.”
“You’re damn right it’s a f**king lot. Why the hell haven’t you mentioned all of this before? I thought you guys were just going through a typical dry spell that everyone goes through when they have multiple kids. This is way beyond that. I want to kick Drew’s ass way more than usual right now,” she says angrily.
“It’s not all his fault,” I say with a sigh.
“The f**k it isn’t! You’re his wife. His soul mate. He should be taking care of you and making sure all of your needs are met, not leaving it up to the eye candy living across the street. And Jenny, that kid is total jailbait. You need to stop any and all thoughts you might be harboring about him.”
“Hey, don’t judge him just because he’s done time. He is a very nice person. And how the hell do you even know he was in jail?” I ask angrily.
“Jenny, he’s like nineteen! He’s thirteen years younger than you, and he lives with his mommy and daddy. Do you really think you can just divorce Drew and this kid is going to take on a thirty-two-year-old with two kids? How the hell is he going to support you with his paper route money?”
“Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to divorce Drew! Sure, Jackson is nice to look at and he’s a big help, but I don’t want to marry the guy! I love Drew. I just don’t know how to fix this,” I tell her as the tears I’ve been trying to keep inside begin falling.
“Oh thank f**king God,” Liz says in relief. “This, we can fix. We just need to kick Drew’s ass and get his God dammed head in the game. Why the hell haven’t you just told him all of this?”
“I don’t know! I thought he would just get it like he always has in the past. He’s always known what I wanted and needed and after a while, I just started getting pissed that he didn’t. Now that it’s gone on this long, I don’t know what the hell to do!” I wail.
“Lucky for you, I’m here. We’re going to fix this shit,” Liz tells me.
She puts her arm around my shoulder in a very uncharacteristic show of affection for her and we walk back to the classroom to pick up the girls while she plans a strategy.
~
“When you said you were going to fix things, this really isn’t what I had in mind,” I complain an hour later.
We drop Veronica off with Drew’s dad who was already watching Billy for the day, and Liz tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to watch Molly as well. He calls her ma’am and scoops up both girls in the driveway and runs back into the house before we can even tell him how long we will be gone.
We are currently sitting in the waiting room of the local salon waiting for my turn to get a Brazilian wax.
“Before we can fix your shit, we need to fix your shit,” Liz says with a wave of her hand in the general direction of my vagina. “No man should have to get his penis caught in a jungle of pubic hair.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.
“It’s not that bad,” I complain.
“The last time you even took a razor to that area was seven months ago. It is THAT bad. The day you wanted me to look at your va**na I could see those things trying to jump ship out of the sides of your underwear. Your twat looked like one of those freaky clowns that’s bald down the middle of its white head with ginormous tufts of hair sprouting out by it’s ears.”
Before I can bitch at her about comparing my va**na to a clown’s head, the receptionist calls my name and we both stand up.
“Are you really going back there with me?” I ask.
“Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman’s face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire,” she states.
“Are you finished?” I ask irritably.
“I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”
“You are kind of dicky,” I tell her as we follow the receptionist into one of the private waxing rooms.
“Yes, and in just a few minutes, a dick will be able to find your va**na without needing night vision goggles and a weed whacker.”
“Okay, Jenny, if you want to just strip down and wrap the towel that’s on the table around your waist, the esthetician will be in shortly,” the receptionist says with a cheerful smile before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
“An anesthetician? Geeze, I had no idea they went to such extremes and the same guy who gives you an epidural during child birth does waxing now. Just how bad is this going to hurt?” I ask as I strip off my jeans and underwear.
“Holy fuck, Jenny! How does that shit even fit in your underwear?!” Liz yells as she laughs and points. “And the guy who gives you an epidural is an Anesthesiologist. I’m going to need a f**king anesthesiologist to numb my eyes after seeing this!”
I quickly turn away from her and wrap the towel around my waist so she can stop making fun of me. I reach for the hem of my shirt and begin pulling it up my stomach when Liz stops me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh, I’m stripping down like the girl told me to do,” I tell her with my hands still on the edge of my shirt and my stomach exposed.
“Do you have hairy tits or something? Why the hell would you need to take your shirt off?”
I huff at her in annoyance that she just expects me to know what hell I’m doing in this situation.
Pulling my shirt back down, I hop up on the table that’s covered in doctor’s office paper, careful to keep the towel firmly in place so Liz doesn’t come up with any more insults.
“Okay, so really, how long does this take? Is she just going to like, slop some wax right on the upper part and then rip it off?” I ask Liz.
“Uh, no. This is a Brazilian. She is going to get all up in your shit from your FUPA to your asshole,” Liz informs me with a completely serious look on her face.
“What the hell is a 'FUPA' and what do you mean, ‘all up in my shit?'” I ask her nervously.
“FUPA equals fat, upper pu**y area. And all in your shit, like, you know, spread you open and get all in there, then flip you over on all fours and clean up your ass.”
Why is she so matter-of-fact about this crap?! And I do NOT have a fat, upper pu**y area!
“They’re going to spread open my folds and wax in there?!”
Liz lets out a sound of disgust and grimaces. “Please, God, never say the word folds again.”
This is beyond embarrassing. I really did not expect that the waxing of my bits included someone getting this intimate with me.
“What if I’m like, moist, down there? Will the wax even stick?”
Liz makes a gagging sound at this point and gives me a dirty look. “Seriously. Folds and now moist? Cut that shit out or I’m going to puke all over this floor.”
The door opens before I can ask any more questions and a short, cute, bubbly blonde walks in and introduces herself.
“Hi! My name is Stephanie and I’ll be taking care of your waxing needs today,” she says as she walks over to the waxing station next to the table and stirs the already melted wax in the warming pot and begins setting out all of the waxing strips and the wooden sticks she’ll use to torture me to death.
“Have you ever had a Brazilian before?” she asks as she turns around and helps me lay down on the table.
“No, I usually just shave, but it’s been a while” I tell her as she rolls the work station on wheels closer to the table so she can reach it better.
“Careful, you might poke an eye out or something when you get a look in there. Prepare yourself,” Liz jokes from her chair over against the wall.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not as bad as some of the women I’ve seen come in here,” she reassures me with a smile as she parts my towel to get a look at what she’s working with.
“Oh my,” she says softly and then quickly steps away. “Well, um. Wow. Okay, I think I’m going to need more waxing strips. And maybe more wax,” Stephanie says as she moves away from the table to grab extra supplies out of the cabinet against the wall.
Liz is full on laughing and snorting at this point, and I lift up my hand and give her the finger without raising my head from the table.
Stephanie comes back moments later and adds the extra supplies to the table. She dips one of the wooden sticks into the wax and holds her hand under it to catch any excess dripping, then she spreads it out all over my SUPA – skinny upper pu**y area.
It’s warm and soothing when she spreads it around and I kind of like it.
Who knew this would actually be enjoyab-
“AAAAAHHH MY VAGINA!” I scream suddenly at the top of my lungs, my hands flying down to cover myself and press down on the area that burns like it’s on fire to try and alleviate some of the pain.
“OH MY GOD DID YOU PULL MY CLIT OFF?!” I yell at Stephanie in horror as she stands there holding the cloth strip that’s full of hair and quite possibly my pleasure button.
“Sorry, I should have probably warned you I was going to do that but I find it’s best not to warn someone for the first one because they’ll just tense up and it will hurt worse,” Stephanie explains with a happy smile as she turns and picks up another wax strip and dips the wooden stick into the hot wax.
“The first one is always the worst. Suck it up, bitch,” Liz tells me from her chair.
The next half hour doesn’t go by quickly at all, and several times I have to stop myself from smacking Stephanie in her face. Liz must have sensed my desire to choke the poor woman and came up to the table to hold my arms down. Luckily, Stephanie redeemed herself by telling us horror stories about other women she’s waxed: women getting their monthly visitor right in the middle of waxing or women having orgasms during the event. That right there boogers my mind but then I remember how much Drew liked it when I had to rip the pieces of tree bark off of his ass during “The Great Honey Adventure”.